Housian Dynamics
by Merrie
Summary: Dr. Gregory House is a genius when it comes to diagnosing mysterious ailments and illnesses. But what happens when he falls ill with an unexplainable disease himself? Will his team be able to prove their worth by working together in time to save him?
1. Chapter 1

Housian Dynamics

A House fic by Merrie

Disclaimer: They are mine! All mine! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA is carted off by nice men in white coats with butterfly nets

Summary: Dr. Gregory House is a genius when it comes to diagnosing mysterious ailments and illnesses. But what happens when he falls ill with an unexplainable disease himself? Will his team be able to prove their worth by working together without him in time to save him?

Characters: House, Cam, Chase, Foreman, Wilson, Cuddy, Vogler, etc. etc. If they're on House regularly, they'll at least be mentioned in this fic.

Spoilers: As I started writing this after watching Heavy-yeah I know I'm slow-that's where this fic takes place but it will be AU after that.

Pairings: I'm a House/Cameron fanatic, so undoubtedly there will be aspects of that. I'm also a House/Wilson friendship fan so look for that as well.

Author's Note: While this isn't my first fanfic by any means, it is only my second attempt at writing for House. Also, I am not a doctor; I never have been nor ever will be a doctor. While all of the medical ailments are real-as far as the Internet informs me-I have tinkered with time and the seriousness of symptoms occasionally to make the story more dramatic. I hope you won't hold it against me.

Rating: Um, let's say PG-13 for naughty language, icky medical stuff, and much Vicodin taking. That's probably safe. Or...um, T? Is that how they're working this new-fangled rating system these days? In any case, this fic should be suitable for teenagers and above.

Chapter One

Gregory House felt like shit. There was no getting around it. He couldn't lie to himself and say that he was fine-that he was hung-over or just tired-because for one he hadn't had anything but his normal glass of single-malt scotch last night, and two he had actually gotten a decent amount of sleep. Looking at himself in the mirror made it even harder to deny; his complexion had all but turned the shade of rice paper save the two flushed cherries marking probably fever on his cheeks, his eyes looked dull and glassy even as he blinked them, and all around he looked about as well as he felt: like shit.

"Cuddy'd probably give me the day off if I called in," he mused to himself as he hung his cane on the towel rack and cupped his hands under the running faucet to bring cool relief to his feverish skin. He didn't dare take his temperature; there was only so much he could admit even to himself. He felt like shit. He was not, nor ever would be, sick. He didn't get sick. He got food poisoning, migraines and hangovers like everyone else, but he did _not_ get sick. Therefore, if he wasn't sick, he couldn't call in claiming he was sick. Well, he could but that wouldn't be very nice, now would it? _Not with the scores of unwashed waiting for their healer to arrive,_ he thought dryly. _And those ducklings of mine wouldn't know what to do with themselves without me._ _Not to mention that turncoat Chase wouldn't have anyone to tattle to daddy on._ House wanted to be upset with the young Australian doctor, but it took too much energy right now.

"I should just stay home," he mused again, half trying to convince himself. He had had to drag himself out of bed this morning as it was anyway. What difference would it make if he just crawled back between the sheets and let this godforsaken day go to hell? _Because I'm not sick. I'm just in a bad mood. And what's more fun than inflicting your bad moods on unsuspecting coworkers and friends?_ His rational mind didn't have such an easy answer for that one.

ooo

"And you're here why, exactly?" James Wilson asked incredulously as he listened again to House's rationalisation of why he had come into work today. "Have you even seen yourself? You look half-dead. Face it Greg. You're sick. Just go home."

House grunted. "Go be a doctor somewhere else. I'm fine."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "You would say that if you had a dagger sticking out of your back."

House moved his hand to his back to feel along his shirt. "Well I certainly don't feel any daggers so therefore I must be fine. If you want to put one there later I won't tell. Now if you'll excuse me, my victims await," he said with a somewhat subdued-for him-mischievous grin and hobbled into his office, leaving Wilson to stand stunned in his wake, slowly shaking his head.

House moved into the conference room attached to his office without acknowledging any of his trio of young doctors as he headed straight for his red coffee mug and the coffee pot that Cameron had no doubt filled first thing. He stopped in front of it, very nearly poured himself a cup, debated on whether or not he wanted tea instead, and opted for neither. He didn't really feel like drinking anything right now anyway. Not because he wasn't feeling well-he didn't get sick-but because he simply wasn't thirsty. Or, that's what he told himself at least.

"Good morning, Dr. House."

Now wasn't that odd? It hadn't been Cameron's smooth tones that had greeted him but Foreman's deeper voice, inexplicably lacking the air of condescending that usually filled his words. Oh that's right. Foreman was the only one that wasn't mad at him at the moment. Chase was upset because he had been found out that he was tattling and Cameron…well Cameron had her reasons for being upset with him. He remained silent for a minute longer, seeing that Foreman wasn't really waiting for a response. He grunted a good morning back anyway and took a seat at the table with Foreman on his right and Cameron on his left. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his leg out in front of him, telling himself that he was sitting down to take the weight off of it, not that he felt dizzy all of a sudden. "So, nothing? Not a single case that requires my unique talents and skills?"

The trio shook their heads near simultaneously, Chase answering further. "We haven't had a new case in a week. Not since the fat girl."

Foreman snorted at this, clearly irritated by Chase's choice of words.

Chase shrugged and amended. "The heavy girl then."

"Who's not so heavy anymore," Cameron spoke up.

House would have rolled his eyes at their banter, but he found himself lacking the energy. "The girl, whether she could be called fat, heavy, jumbo-sized or big boned doesn't matter because she's _not here._ We discharged her, remember now or do you all need further reminders?" When his staff declined to answer, he went on. "Girl came in, heart conditi—"

"We remember, Dr. House," Cameron interrupted his tirade gracefully. "We honestly don't have any new cases."

"I thought you would be happy about that?" Foreman asked with a puzzled frown. "You can just sit around in your office all day playing your video games and watching your television."

"Without a new case to solve he gets bored," Chase offered as an explanation. "You should try crossword puzzles."

"Too easy," House murmured, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. Chase was right. He _was_ bored. For almost a year he had gotten by with doing as little as possible. Sure he had had his days of boredom, but it was nothing like this. He had gotten used to sinking his teeth into interesting cases again. He had grown to anticipate the first rush of exhilaration when he found something to tax himself with. It was irritating to find that he missed it; that he wouldn't willingly go back to the way things had been before.

"You could always go work in the clinic for a few hours. I'm just saying," Foreman rationalized after being confronted by a deathglare from House.

"Gee and here I was thinking about how much I'd rather have my eyes plucked out than work in the clinic today. Would you like to do the plucking?" House asked Foreman grimly.

Foreman just rolled his eyes at House's response, determined not to rise to the bait.

House in return just grunted, unconsciously bringing his hands up the throbbing headache he was trying to deny away, forgetting that he was currently the center of attention.

"Dr. House? Are you feeling alright?" Cameron's quietly concerned voice slipped in between the hammer-on-anvil-blows of his headache.

He looked up at her, silently cursing that he'd been spotted. "I'm fine," he growled, hoping she'd get the message and leave him be.

No such luck. "I could get you an aspirin if you like," she offered gently.

He scowled. When would she get it through her head that she didn't need to look after everyone? He wasn't some snotty-nosed brat that she could huddle under her wing to take care of. "I'm fine," he bit out. "Go mother someone else."

Her jaw clenched, but she held her ground. That was good. Once upon a time she might have turned on a heel and stormed off. That wasn't so now. She was learning. "Forget I said anything. Clearly you're perfectly fine in every way."

Chase and Foreman shared an awkward look, neither of them liking to be caught in the middle of this. It was too like mommy and daddy were fighting in front of their kids for either of their minds to cope with. It was disturbing and both of them felt a strong desire to go elsewhere for a few hours.

Instead of responding with a characteristically biting comment to such a response from her House simply grunted and shook his head. "Call me when some poor moron needs my help. Until then I'll be in my office." He rubbed his sweaty palm on his pant leg and then grabbed his cane from where it hung on the edge of the table. He had been about to rise to his feet when Cameron decided to go on.

"You're a stubborn son of a bitch, do you know that?" Clearly she no longer cared for pretenses. Chase coughed discreetly to remind her of his presence and Foreman just sat back to watch the show. She went on irregardless. "It's no wonder you're miserable. You don't care about anyone but yourself and even then you don't care about yourself much. And if anyone is foolish enough to even _consider_ worrying about you, you just treat their concerns as idiot and their worries as trivial."

"You mean _your_ worries, don't you? You're angry with me because I don't take you seriously," House answered her tirade calmly. "That my heart doesn't go aflutter with worry just because Cameron notices my colour's off."

"You're a bastard," she mused sourly. "One day something is going to be really wrong and no one will say anything to you or even care because we're tired of your bullshit."

"First I'm a son of a bitch and now I'm a bastard. Have you been speaking with my mother lately?" House asked dryly. He didn't have time for this. Well…actually he did. What the hell else was he going to do all day with no new cases? The day he went down to the clinic to stave off boredom was the day he handed his resignation in to Vogler.

Cameron didn't answer that. And from the look on House's face it was clear he wasn't really searching for a response. She was slowly beginning to see the difference between the snide remarks designed for notice and response and the comments that he just spit back as a sort of automatic defense mechanism. That didn't make those comments any less painful to bear. At first she had been hurt, she had even cried once-_once_-after a particularly harsh comment about a shirt she had been wearing that day that she had never forgotten. She had never worn the shirt again after that either. Instead she found herself unwillingly playing his game; learning to speak up for herself. She would never be aggressive, she just wasn't that kind of person, but she wasn't going to just let him walk all over her like she was nothing either. Manipulation hadn't worked. That was fine. She hadn't really expected the ideas given in the books she had read to work on someone like House, but she couldn't help but try.

Not for the first time she wished that she had never met him; that she didn't like him. Chase had been right. House didn't like anyone. He couldn't like anyone. Knowing this didn't make his refusal any easier to bear. But she had had to ask. She had to know if she was wasting her time in liking him. She had to know if he would ever be able to like her back. It was clear that he didn't, that he would never like her in the same way she liked him. And yet…he had hesitated. She warned herself not to delve too deeply into something as mundane as a few second long hesitation, but couldn't help it. Her heart had latched onto that hesitation as if it were a lifeline. And the fact that he said it without so much as a mild frown gave her pause as well; he who had a face of a thousand expressions. That had to mean something, didn't it? She wanted to think so. Her head knew that she would abandon this foolish crush before she got hurt worse than she already had been, but her heart wasn't listening. It occurred to her then that House wasn't listening either; or saying a word for that matter. He was sitting at the table in utter uncharacteristic silence. It made her want to ask if he was alright again but she held her tongue.

Chase asked for her. Bless him. "Dr. House? Are you alright?" He eyed House warily, looking as if he were about to stand up and move to his side to check on him further. Good. Then Cameron wasn't the only one who noticed that he looked half dead and beaten this morning. More so than usual anyway.

House turned his head slowly and blinked at him, looking as if he didn't understand the question. His mind caught up quickly and he answered that he was fine, but the hesitation was enough to draw Foreman's attention as well.

"If you're sick why did you even bother coming in? You know Cuddy will send you home anyway if she finds out," Foreman pointed out with a confused frown.

"I'm not sick," House insisted heatedly. It was more than time to retreat to his office and lock these nosy ducklings of his out behind him. Only he didn't quite feel up to standing and walking over there right now so he was stuck.

"Sure you're not," Foreman said with a raised eyebrow and an incredulous look. "If you're not sick then why aren't you roaming the halls making life miserable for everyone you come across?"

"Because it's much more fun for me to stay here and make your life miserable instead," House responded blithely.

"Right," Foreman snorted. "You can't get up to walk to your office, can you? What? Are you afraid you'll get dizzy and fall down and go boom?"

If looks could kill, Chase and Cameron would be collateral damage in Foreman's fiery ball of agony. "Are you deaf as well as ignorant? I said I'm _fine,_" House growled when Foreman didn't go up in flames as he had hoped.

Cameron was the first to let out a snort of irritation but she wasn't the only one. Clearly his staff needed to be reminded who was boss again. Maybe a sound cane thwapping upside the head would do the trick. But later. When he didn't feel like sleeping the week away and then some. Why had he come into work? Oh right. Because he wasn't sick.

"Prove it," Cameron challenged. "I don't see what the problem is. If you're sick you get a day off on a day without a new case to solve anyway. If you're not then we'll stop bothering you about it."

"No you won't," House muttered. "You worry. You nag. That's what you do."

"Then I'm nagging," Cameron shot back. "You're not fooling anyone, Dr. House. Would you like one of us to call Cuddy? I'm sure she'd be more than willing to send you home whether you like it or not. Or how about Vogler? He'd love to see you out of the office seeing as he sees this entire department as a waste of money. If the head of the department's not here then theoretically money won't be wasted, correct? He'd have you sent home even before the word fully reached his ears."

"You play dirty. I like it," House admitted grudgingly.

"Does that mean you're answering the challenge?" Cameron asked, ignoring the heavy-handed compliment.

"Sounds like fun. What is the challenge again?" House asked with a forced grin, not liking the trickle of cold sweat that made its way down his collar or the way his cane trembled with the slight shaking of his hand. Maybe he really_ was_ sick…

"Prove to us that you're not sick," she answered. "I'll make a deal with you. If I'm right and you've got a temperature of over 100 then you have to take a week off."

"A week now? I thought you were asking for just a day? What's the matter? Do you want to get rid of me?" House asked with a smirk.

"Do we have a deal or not? Foreman and Chase will be witnesses."

"Or on the other hand, they can sit around and do nothing because there's no deal. I'm not going home and I'm not sick," House asserted, taking hold of his cane once more and rising to his feet. "I'll be in my office if you feel the need to argue about this further," he muttered, taking a step in that direction. _That's funny. The wall's crooked. Maybe I should have maintenance up here to check on that…_

House's three young doctors watched in a mixture of irritated amusement and horror as their boss and colleague suddenly dropped to the ground like a marionette that had just had its strings cut.

"Stubborn," Cameron muttered, not rising from her place at the table to help House to his feet again even though she wanted to. He wouldn't accept her help anyway. "Are you still claiming that you're not sick, Dr. House? Or let me guess. You tripped."

House neither responded nor moved from his heap in the middle of the floor. His face was tilted to the side on the carpet so only his profile was visible. Cameron frowned and got up from her chair to check on him, swearing that if he was faking she wouldn't be held accountable for her actions.

"Come on, Dr. House. You fooled us. Nice job," Chase called over good-naturedly, thinking that House was faking.

Cameron was beginning to think otherwise as she approached him. "Dr. House?" she called softly, crouching down beside him and reaching a hand out to feel his forehead. "Oh god. He's burning up. We've got to get him into the ICU."

Chase and Foreman were at her side within seconds. "He's not faking?" Chase asked incredulously. In all his time at Princeton-Plainsboro he had never known House to be sick before.

"Not unless he's learned how to fake a fever," Cameron answered with a shake of her head.

Chase's brow furrowed and he reached out to feel Houses' brow for himself, not fully believing it. "Damn. I didn't think House ever got sick," he muttered as the three of them gently rolled House over onto his back. "Dr. House? Can you hear me?" Chase asked in an insistent voice, even going to far as to slap House lightly on the cheek in an attempt to wake him.

"He's unresponsive," Foreman announced with the frown before yelling for a nurse. His voice carried well through the glass walls of the office and down to a nearby nurses' station. Mere seconds later a nurse was hurrying through the office door, taking in the scene before her with a calculating stare. She didn't even bother to ask what was wrong. She just turned and went to get a stretcher. The team as a whole silently respected her for that. "What could have caused this?" Foreman asked as they waited for the nurse and the stretcher. "He was fine a minute ago."

"I don't know but we're going to find out. We _have_ to find out," Cameron stated firmly, worry clearly apparent in her voice.

"We will," Chase answered her.

ooo

House moaned softly, not wanting to come back into the land of the living but seemingly without a choice in that matter. He still felt like shit. Every part of him ached, his head and throat most of all. His head felt like someone large was sitting on it-he actually slowly raised an arm to make sure this wasn't the case-and his throat felt as if it had been lined with sandpaper. And not the soft friendly kind of sandpaper either.

"You've got the flu, Dr. House," Cameron's gentle voice interjected into his consciousness. He felt a cup of ice chips pressed against his lips and figured that she must have put them there. He might have refused; might have denied her help as he didn't want it, but he was too thirsty to argue now. He took a few of the ice chips into his mouth and chewed them up. It hurt too much to suck on them. She continued once she had pulled the cup away and set it on a table next to him. "Do you remember what happened?"

"It looks like you win the bet," he muttered hoarsely. He had no delusions that his fever hadn't been over 100. He could _feel_ that it had been.

"You're temperature was 104 when we admitted you, so yes I win the bet." She didn't sound as happy about this as she probably should have. "You shouldn't have even come into work today. What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh great, here comes the mothering," he muttered to himself. "I came into work looking for some sympathy. And it looks as if I've found it. Are you going to make me some chicken noodle soup now or do I have to ask Foreman or Chase? Maybe Cuddy would. She's always seemed like the nurturing type, don't you think?"

"You really don't give a damn about what happened in there, do you? You really don't care how seeing you like that affected all of us. You collapsed in the middle of your office, House! We didn't know what was wrong with you!"

House rolled his eyes. "If you haven't gotten used to situations like that by now then clearly I'm paying you too much because you haven't been paying attention. I'm _fine. _You said it yourself. I've got the flu. I'm sure they'll pump me full of fluids and send me home for bed rest and chicken noodle soup like the sick little boy that I am."

"You're insufferable," Cameron said through gritted teeth. "What if something had really been wrong with you?"

"Oh I'm sure the three supposedly brilliant doctors I was forced to hire could figure something out. Now granted, without my clearly superior expertise leading the way I'd probably be worm food by now, but luckily for me all I need is a week off clinic duty and some good old-fashioned TLC. Are you volunteering? Or should I ask Cuddy? Personally, I'm willing to bet you have a more enjoyable bedside manner than she does, but hell I could be wrong. It's not likely, but there you go. Maybe you could both come. That's actually close to one of my current fantasies. But I'm a misanthrope and a misogynist, right? I just sit around and decry the faults of humanity to the walls. I couldn't possibly spend my time doing anything else."

"You're a misanthrope. Not a misogynist," Cameron muttered under her breath.

"Oh so I hate mankind, but not womankind. I get it," House said wryly. "Does that make me a ladies man?"

Cameron ignored the question. "I didn't say you hated everyone. I don't think you do. But you don't trust anyone. You don't let anyone in. You don't take any risks regarding people because you _know_-whether that knowing is correct or not doesn't seem to matter-that they'll let you down somehow; they'll hurt you."

"You know what? You've got me all figured out. Congratulations. I don't trust anyone. I know they'll hurt me because one time I trusted the world to end and it didn't. I tried mistrusting the world, but people are far easier to avoid."

"Fine. Be glib. Spit back some sarcastic little comment to hide what of a coward you are. I don't care anymore. I'm tired of it, House. I'm tired of your manipulations and misdirection. I'm tired of you treating us like we're your personal lab rats and getting annoyed when we try and find out what makes you do a turn on the wheel instead."

"Nice metaphor, but don't forget who brings in the Gouda around here."

"A big rat," Cameron answered him with a glower. Not waiting to hear his retort, she spun on a heel and strode angrily out of his room, managing to somehow slam the sliding glass door behind her.

"A big rat," House repeated with a slight smirk. "Nice. Where's my cheese?" He looked around the room he was holed up in for the first time, Cameron's presence haven't prevented it earlier. He was silently grateful that it was private, he didn't think he could deal with some nosy roommate. _Hold on. Where the hell are my clothes?_ House lifted up the sheet after noticing that he wasn't wearing his regular layered t-shirt, dress shirt and suit coat. _Or pants for that matter. Damn nurses._ He was wearing the clearly unflattering Princeton-Plainsboro special: bluish-white cotton robe that covered just enough to show _everything._ _At least they let me keep my boxers,_ he muttered to himself. _But where the hell is my Vicodin?_ After a brief search, he located the familiar brown bottle on the small table next to the bed, thinking that one of the nurses must have thoughtfully left it. _Oh come on. It's more likely that Cameron did it. The nurses couldn't remember to do something like making sure a chronic pain sufferer's pain medication was within easy reach if their lives depended on it._ He didn't like labeling himself in such terms, but he wasn't in denial over his condition. He was a sufferer of chronic pain and a cripple. That's what he was. There was no use denying rationality.

He took a moment to evaluate the level of pain he was currently feeling before tapping out two pills into his hand. He wince as they clawed at his sore throat on the way down, cursing the clinic for the sudden case of the flu he apparently had. He did his best to keep himself healthy but when he was forced to deal with idiots who didn't even wash their hands after coughing all over them these things happened. _Damn Cuddy. Damn clinic,_ he growled to himself for what must have been the millionth time by now, impatiently waiting for the pills to dissolve into his system and steal his pain away if only for a little while.

ooo

Wilson was walking from a patient's room with tension and emphatic grief written in every line of his young face when he literally bumped into Cuddy as she strode purposefully across the hall. "Oh, Dr. Wilson. Have you seen Dr. House?" she asked him pointedly.

He had had a rough morning. First House had to be a stubborn son a bitch as always and give him cause to worry, and on top of that he had lost two patients he had foolishly become fond of. He had his own version of House's unique "Everybody lies," concept. His was, "Everybody dies." He had been warned against specializing in oncology; his parents especially had raised concerns at how he would be able to deal with that much pain and suffering and grief surrounding him, but he had persevered. He had always cared for people, and he had always wanted to be a doctor. It really wasn't so hard to believe that he would want to work with cancer patients. Sure, he was looking for a cure as much as any other doctor with his particular specializations would be, but he enjoyed giving people comfort. He took comfort from their comfort. His thoughts were interrupted by a very unladylike clearing of a throat from Cuddy and he realised he didn't answer her question. "No, I haven't seen him since this morning. Maybe he decided to follow my advice for a change instead of just pretending to listen to it and went home. He looked like shit."

"Why would he go home? He has clinic duty today," Cuddy pointed out then paused at how that sounded. Of course House would fake an illness to get out of clinic duty.

"I doubt he actually went home. I'll help you find him if you like," Wilson offered. He needed to get out of the oncology department for awhile to clear his head and this seemed like a worthy enough distraction. _I'm going House-hunting with Cuddy._ Something about that caused him to giggle inappropriately and Cuddy sent him a look. He shook his head and held out a hand for her to lead the way. "I'll assume you've checked his office. Have you asked one of his staff? Or perhaps Vogler?"

"Vogler's the one who sent me looking for him, and his office was the first place I looked," Cuddy answered, her heels clacking sharply on the tile as she strode purposefully towards the elevators.

As luck would have it, they bumped into Dr. Foreman in the elevator going down. "Have you guys heard?" he asked without preamble.

Cuddy and Wilson sent each other a confused glance before simultaneously shaking their heads. "Heard what?" Cuddy asked.

"House is in the ICU. He collapsed in his office this morning," Foreman answered with a frown.

"God damn it," Wilson cursed angrily. "I told him he shouldn't have come in today. Is he alright?"

Foreman nodded. "We think it's just a nasty case of the flu. With the way the nurses are already complaining about him, it wouldn't surprise me to learn he's being sent home soon."

Wilson shook his head and snorted softly at that. He couldn't-and didn't want to-imagine having House as a patient. Doctors typically made the worst kinds of patients and House was the worst of the worst. "What room is in he in?"

"I'll check on him later. I've got to go call off the search party," Cuddy murmured with an almost imperceptible frown of what might have been worry on her face before she turned sharply and walked back the way she had come.

"I'll take you to him, Dr. Wilson," Foreman offered with a shrug. "It seems that today would have been slow anyway even if House hadn't gotten sick."

"Is that a thinly veiled complaint that you're bored, Dr. Foreman?" Wilson asked with a small smile.

"Oh I didn't mean for it to be thinly veiled. I meant for it to be blunt and bordering on whining. I'm bored out of my skull," Foreman answered with a laugh as they rode up the elevator. "I was getting ready to head up to House's room anyway just for a few minutes of entertainment value and bragging rights," he murmured as they exited the elevator and moved down the hall to House's room.

"Let me guess. You all told him to go home as well and he didn't listen to you either? Of course he didn't. I swear, I'm going to strangle him one of these days," Wilson grunted in frustration.

"You'll probably receive a medal for service to the community when you do," Foreman responded with a smirk. "Here it is. 326. We didn't even bother not getting him a private room."

"That was probably wise," Wilson said as he slid open the glass door to House's room, frowning as he saw his friend lying on the hospital bed, seemingly asleep. He looked even worse than he had this morning and that was saying a lot. "House?" Wilson asked softly, moving into the room and hearing Foreman slide the door shut behind him. He probably shouldn't wake House, but he had to make sure that he was alright and that meant talking to him. He had been expecting irritation and snide comments from House as he woke and so he was completely unprepared from the violent start and shudder in the bed as House slid into consciousness, nor the startled look in his blue eyes. "House? It's me. How are you feeling?"

Inexplicably, House started again at the sound of Wilson's voice, and he and Foreman shared a concerned look. "I want to get out of here," House said matter-of-factly. He actually moved to get out of bed and nearly made it before Foreman and Wilson rushed over to stop him. What worried the two doctors even further was the way House fought their help; like they were somehow trying to hurt him. "Let me go!" he yelled, trying to throw their grabbing hands off by thrashing on the bed.

"Greg!" Wilson shouted, grabbing the sides of House's face and forcing him to look at him. "You're alright, do you hear me? Now calm down or we're going to have to call a nurse," he said evenly. He didn't know what was wrong with House to make him freak out like this, but he knew that if they couldn't get him calmed they would be forced to restrain him because they couldn't give him any sedatives until his body was purged of Vicodin and that was not an option at the moment.

"James?" House blinked up at him, going blessedly still on the bed although Foreman still held his shoulders just in case.

"That's it, Greg. You're alright. We're not trying to hurt you, we just want to get you better," Wilson said in his best soothing doctor voice. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

House gave him a puzzled look. "I don't _know_ what happened, Wilson. And you can let go of me now, Foreman. I'm not going to bolt," he said dryly, sending a pointed look at the young doctor who was still holding him down.

"It didn't look that way a few minutes ago," Foreman pointed out with a frown but did let House go.

"Well that was then. I'm all better now, I promise," House said glibly.

"I don't believe you. Now are you going to tell us what happened or do you want me to restrain you again?" Foreman asked in a tone that told House to cut through the bullshit.

House rolled his eyes but cleared his sore throat and began to speak. "You…startled me, alright? And then I just wanted to get out of this godforsaken place."

"And that's it? That's your story?" Wilson asked incredulously a mere second before Foreman could ask much the same. "House, you looked about ready to crawl out of your own skin."

"Well thank God you two were here to prevent that," House snapped coldly.

"Stop being such an ass to the people trying to help you, House," Wilson ordered coolly. "Now be a good boy and let me take your temperature and maybe you'll get a sucker later."

House glared but opened his mouth after muttering, "It had better be cherry."

"It'll be whatever flavour I get and you'll eat it anyway," Wilson murmured before wandering briefly away to grab a sterile thermometer from the nurses' station and putting it under House's tongue. After a minute, Wilson removed the thermometer and looked at with a frown. "You're still topping 100. No wonder you're so delightful today."

"You want delightful?" House asked sweetly. "How about you stick that thermometer up your—" House didn't get to finish his snide remark because he was suddenly arching up off the bed in what looked like unimaginable pain, every muscle ridged and screaming all at once. _Hey, I know this,_ a distant part of his brain whispered. _This is like what happened withmy leg. I can't say I missed this._ House just screamed.

TBC

A/N: Well that was fun, wasn't it? Angsty fun. ;-) It's always a grand idea to start a fic off with a bang, right? Heh. Don't hate me for cliffhangers. I can say with authority that there will be more than a few in this fic. O:-) The new chappy will hopefully be up soon, but it's got to wait its turn in the now three story queue.

Oh and I must thank all those of you who reviewed Second Chances, my other House fic. You all brought a smile to my face and definitely made my day. Thank you:-D

Merrie


	2. Chapter 2

Housian Dynamics

A House fic by Merrie

Disclaimer: Fox? Never heard of them. House is and always has been mine. All mine. Didn't you see my name in the credits? You didn't? Well…I guess he's not mine then. Damn.

Summary: Dr. Gregory House is a genius when it comes to diagnosing mysterious ailments and illnesses. But what happens when he falls ill with an unexplainable disease himself? Will his team be able to prove their worth by working together without him in time to save him?

Characters: House, Cam, Chase, Foreman, Wilson, Cuddy, Vogler, etc. etc. If they're on or were on House regularly, they'll at least be mentioned in this fic.

Spoilers: Not really part of the canon since its AU, but Vogler's still around and House and Cameron have yet to go on "The Date."

Pairings: House/Cameron and House/Wilson friendship

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait! Now without further ado, the new chapter!

Rating: K+

Chapter Two

"This is definitely not the flu," Foreman announced with a deep frown as he and Wilson kept vigil over House's still form. They had been forced to give him a sedative to calm him down and now they were both standing watch not knowing what to do next.

Wilson's brow was furrowed as he reviewed House's chart. "But it is the flu. They ran his blood work awhile ago," he murmured, closing the folder with a sigh.

"Could it be another clot?" Foreman ventured thoughtfully.

Wilson shook his head. "I'm not sure. It could be anything at this point. Gather your team together. House'll probably get annoyed that we're worried about him, but I don't care about that right now. You've got to figure out what's wrong with him and fast because we can either keep giving him sedatives or get him off the Vicodin. You can imagine what he'll say to that."

"Yeah," Foreman said with a smirk. "'Over my dead body.'"

"It's not going to come to that," Wilson said resolutely.

Foreman nodded, regretting he had chosen such a phrase as they stood over House's too still form. "Are we going to tell Cuddy about this? She's going to find out sooner or later. Vogler too, although he'll probably think House is faking."

Wilson felt an urge to defend his overweight boss since he wasn't here to defend himself, but the truth was the man was an asshole who could more than fight his own battles. "You're probably right. But he's not. Even Vogler's not thick enough not to see that. And we probably should tell Cuddy. She couldn't already know by now though. Gossip travels fast here. No doubt one of the nurses already shared the news with her twenty best friends and their families."

Foreman nodded. "She already knows he's here anyway. And that means that Vogler probably knows by now too. I don't think she keeps much from him. And the fact that his arch nemesis while here in the hospital is sick will probably give him some sort of perverse pleasure."

"Oh come on. House isn't anyone's arch nemesis. You make him sound like some kind of character from a comic book," Wilson said with a slow shake of his head. "He's not. He's not infallible; he's not invincible. He can't even save himself." Each statement grew softer and softer until Foreman was straining to hear. He didn't really think that he was supposed to hear anyway, but he couldn't help but listen.

"Nonetheless, I think I should get him a cape," Foreman spoke up after a moment, startling Wilson into looking at him. "Something in blue to match his eyes don't you think?"

Wilson had been about to tear into Foreman for not listening to what he had just said-House was anything but a superhero-when he realised he was being teased. He shook his head and couldn't help but laugh at the absurd image House in a cape would present. "Thanks," he addressed Foreman, knowing an attempt at lightening the mood when he saw one. He had done it enough times himself. "That would just be encouraging him, though. He doesn't need any more encouragement."

"You're probably right. And he definitely doesn't need his ego to swell any larger than it already has. He wouldn't be able to walk."

"He'd probably make all of you call him 'Super House' or something," Wilson said with a small smile.

"With the ability to annoy all members of the medical profession and their patients in a single bound," Foreman added with a small smile of his own.

The two men stood in silence for a long moment, their eyes fixed on the prone form of their boss and friend. It was Wilson who turned away first although he clearly didn't want to. "I have patients," he said softly. "Find Chase and Cameron. Figure out what's wrong with him. I'll be in with you as soon as I can."

Foreman nodded. "We'll page you if anything changes."

Wilson sighed, turned and looked at House once more, and walked slowly out of the room, his steps heavy with worry and his shoulders hunched with helplessness.

ooo

Cameron stalked through the hospital avoiding everyone but cursing only one man: House. He infuriated her! How dare he be so glib about what happened? Didn't he know that she had been scared—she cut that thought off, not even wanting to admit to herself how she had felt to see him collapse to the floor of his office and not get up again.

People who she might have otherwise talked to—she always had a good word for the fellow members of her staff, even House—didn't even try and approach her upon seeing the stormy scowl on her face. A few whispered that House must be on the warpath again and that she was just too sensitive for her own good but she ignored them. Her bottom lip was fast becoming a gnawed, bloody mess as she fumed but she ignored that too. _Why do I even bother? I should have just let him lie there. He obviously doesn't need anyone's help. Oh no. Pity the poor fool who attempts to comfort the invulnerable Dr. Gregory House. And pity further the poor idiot who falls in love with him…_

Cameron halted her angry steps in the middle of a busy hall, a horror-filled look on her face. _Oh no. Oh god no. I did not just say that. I'm angry. I'm not thinking straight. There is no way in hell I love House! Like, ok maybe I do like him a little. But love? Pull yourself together, Ally. You're not making sense anymore._ Cameron lifted her chin and continued her stride to… _Oh damn. _She hadn't had a specific destination in mind when she had left House's room—she had just needed to _leave_—but now that she had come to her destination her face fell.

_Gregory House, M.D. Department of Diagnostic Medicine._ The letters practically mocked her from their place on the glass door standing innocuously in front of her. She wanted to throw something through that glass. One of the potted Phalaenopsis orchids littered about the hospital would have done the job but she couldn't bring herself to hurt one of the delicate flowers in such an ill deed. A large rock would be better suited for such a task.

Huffing a curse she did a quick left-face and walked to the door of the lounge and entered through it instead. This was really the last place she wanted to be right now, but apparently her own feet had had other ideas for this was where she found herself. She might have turned around and went somewhere else, but where? She didn't have clinic duty today and this place—as irritating as it might be to her right now—had become her sanctuary. She only wished it could somehow double as a sanctuary away from House but that was what the Clinic was for.

She was shaken out of her thoughts by the familiar sound of a marker squeaking on the dry erase board and looked up, half expecting to find House standing there writing out the symptoms of their newest patient. It wasn't House but Foreman, however and she found herself irritatingly disappointed.

"Cameron where have you been? I was just about to send out a search party. Didn't you get my page?" Foreman asked with a frown.

She had the grace to look a bit sheepish as she took a seat next to Chase and looked up at the board. She had turned off her pager, wanting to be alone for awhile. It wasn't a very intelligent thing to do but she hadn't exactly been thinking clearly either. "I'm here now. What's the case? Who's the patient?" she asked, waiting for Foreman to continue his symptoms list on the board. So far he had 'restlessness' and 'easily startled.'

Foreman and Chase shared a weighted glance and Cameron frowned and doubly cursed herself for having turned off her pager. What was going on?

"It's House," Foreman answered in an even tone after a minute of silence had passed.

"What?" Cameron asked incredulously, her mind _refusing_ to accept this. If she did then she would fast become lost in worry and that _could not_ _happen._ "Are things so slow around here that we're forced to diagnose a bout of the flu?" Her words were light but the emotion behind them was strained.

"It's something else than the flu. Dr. Wilson and I went to check on him and…and he just freaked."

"Freaked?" Cameron repeated Foreman's phrase with a furrowed brow. "Is that a medical term now? Tell me what happened, Eric."

"I'm getting to that," Foreman explained and turned back to the board. "First of all, he looked about ready to jump out of his skin when Wilson and I arrived. Granted, that's not usually an unheard of thing to be nervous in a hospital, but it is unusual for a doctor to feel this way." Foreman took a breath and looked at the board without really looking at it, seeming to become lost in memory. "He was agitated. Granted, House is more than often always agitated, but it was more than that. He was snapping at us as if we were to blame for every ill in the entire world."

Cameron sat and waited for Foreman to go on when he had fallen into silence, but apparently he seemed to be waiting for another interruption from her. When none was forthcoming, he went on.

"Wilson and I had to hold him down for god's sake. This was more than simple agitation. This was fear. Wilson talked him down and he was fine for a minute when he had some kind of mild seizure or muscle spasm. We weren't able to figure out which because Wilson had him sedated before we could get a straight word out of him."

"You sedated him? You shouldn't have done that," Chase said with a shake of his head. "Not with the Vicodin."

"It was our only option. We couldn't give him any more pain killers and we couldn't just leave him there screaming in pain either. We made a choice and took a chance," Foreman said with a frown. He hoped it had been the right one.

"Could it be another clot?" Chase asked after a long silence had passed in which each of them considered the facts as Foreman presented them.

"That's what I thought at first but we're not sure but I've scheduled him for an MRI this afternoon just in case," Foreman assured him after writing 'muscle spasm or seizure' and 'blood clot?' on the board.

Chase nodded. "That sounds like the most likely cause for now." He turned to his colleagues for agreement. Cameron and Foreman both seemed to consider it before they both nodded in silence. "I say we wait until we've gotten the results of the MRI back to worry. I'm sure it's not as bad as we're all thinking it is."

Cameron frowned at Chases' pointed stare as he said those words. Why did he assume that she was ducking for cover and imagining the worst when it came to House? _Uh probably because you are, Allison._ She told her inner voice to shut up and rose from her seat.

"He's still out of it," Foreman spoke up at her movement.

"What?" Cameron asked in confusion.

"House. He's not going to be awake," Foreman clarified.

"What makes you think I'm going to see House?" she asked with as close to an irritated scowl as she could manage.

Foreman just gave her a look that said he wasn't buying into her excuse. "He's in room 326 if you want to check anyway but…you already knew that," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.

Cameron didn't deign to answer that. She wanted to slap the smug look off of his face but that wouldn't help matters any. She turned on a heel and left the room in a huff, barely managing not to slug Chase on her way by as she heard him scoff.

ooo

Dr. Lisa Cuddy shuffled a stack of papers on her desk, valiantly trying to get enough work done so that she could finish before the graveyard shift arrived. Many people over the years had called her a workaholic; someone who lived and breathed what they did for a living and Cuddy could see how they could think that. But it wasn't true. She believed in her job, pure and simple. It sounded trite even to her own ears but it was the truth. She believed in this hospital and the people in it. _Even House…_ She shook her thoughts off of him and went back to her work but her thoughts betrayed her even as she warned herself against them. As this hospital was her domain she heard the whispering within its walls; saw the character of the people who inhabited it. She knew that House was in the ICU. She had known almost from the instant he had been placed there. She had wanted to go see him—wanted to see for herself that such a man as Dr. Gregory House needed to rely on someone else's care for a change—but she didn't dare. She had enough to worry about without adding arrogant, sarcastic crippled geniuses to the list. Vogler, for instance…

She glanced up at the sound of her office door being pushed open and hoped that she hadn't brought Vogler himself down upon her simply by speaking his name. The man wasn't the devil. One of his minions probably, but not the devil himself. It was neither. Unless Vogler had some how lost 200 pounds and had a sex change or the devil had come in a guise of innocence it was one of her young students.

"Dr. Cuddy? You asked to be informed about Dr. House's condition," the young woman offered timidly in lieu of a traditional greeting.

Cuddy sighed and waved her hand for the hovering girl to step into her office and shut the door behind her. Honestly, she didn't bite. "Well?" she prompted, impatiently waiting for the news the girl had brought. Just because she didn't go visit House didn't mean that she didn't want to be kept up to speed on his condition. _Not that the flu is anything to worry about. He'll probably blame me for getting it too, knowing him._

"Dr. House has been sedated," the student offered, going into no further detail than that. She simply stated those words as if that was all anyone ever needed or wanted to know.

"What?" Cuddy asked, managing to keep her voice calm by force of will alone. Unless he had done something to push one of the nurses to desperation and sedation—not entirely impossible where House was concerned—something was going on that she was not yet aware of in _her_ hospital regarding one of _her_ doctors. This did not bode well. "Who sedated him?"

"Didn't you—" the student cut herself off at Cuddy's even glare. How was this girl ever gong to become a doctor id she couldn't answer a simple straight question? "I'll find out," the girl offered.

"Don't bother," Cuddy intoned with a wave of his hand. "What did they sedate him for? I assume you read his chart…" Cuddy trailed off because it was clear from the about-to-be-road kill-doe look about her face that she had done no such thing. "Nevermind. Just what duty did I have you performing before I sent you to inquire about Dr. House?"

"I was changing the patient bedpans, Dr. Cuddy," the student murmured in a low voice.

_No wonder. It's a good thing she has large breasts and a trim waist or Vogler would have fired her weeks ago. At least she's honest. Something that won't last if she's forced to interact with House, I'm sure._ "I suggest you get back to work then. Bedpans don't change themselves, you know," Cuddy couldn't help but add before grabbing up the phone and banishing the hapless medical student's idiocy from her mind. It was time to find out just what the hell was going on. _If House is somehow manipulating us all into chasing our tails for him so help me he'll never leave the Clinic…_ Cuddy frowned and made some inquiries.

ooo

House let out a loud groan as the devastatingly uninteresting white tiled ceiling of a hospital room came fuzzily into focus. What the hell had happened? He remembered talking to Foreman and Wilson and then…then what? _Oh. Pain. I remember now,_ he grumbled to himself. His constant companion had apparently decided it wasn't getting enough attention. Well House was certainly paying attention now. He hadn't felt pain like that since…well since he had gone from pain-free to agony in a number of days. _Not good. Well if it is another clot at least you'll be able to yell at that them that it is until someone listens. _

"Ah Dr. House. You're awake. And on my turn to baby-sit. Wonderful," an irritatingly familiar voice drawled within his heavy consciousness, interrupting his thoughts. It was Chase. Marvelous.

"I'm not awake. Go away," he grumbled, not even bothering to open his eyes. If he ignored the Aussie pretty boy long enough he would get the message and go away. That was the theory anyway.

"Afraid I can't do that. How are you feeling? Do you know where you are?" Chase asked, coming over to stand at House's side. House swore that if a penlight even came _near_ one of his eyes he would end up shoved down Chases' throat.

"Like shit. House. Princeton-Plainsboro. And if you even _think_ of pointing that thing in my eye, Benedict Chase, you're not going to like where it ends up." House had heard Chase slide something out of a pocket and figured it was either a syringe or the damned penlight. He took a guess and by Chases' silence it had been a correct one.

"I didn't betray you. I thought you were going to fire me so I went to the man I knew could ensure me a job."

"Vogler. But he didn't, did he? Or else he ensured it with strings attached. He likes doing that. It's a game to him," House murmured, cracking open a single blue eye to check if it was safe. The penlight indeed had been put away.

"I was worth only as much as he could learn from me," Chase grumbled. "And he made sure I knew it. Bastard," Chase muttered just loud enough for House to hear.

Both eyes opened and considered the young doctor. "Now that we're speaking the same language, what do you want?"

Chase rolled his eyes. "You were just forcibly sedated after having some kind of seizure and you're asking me what I want," Chase muttered under his breath, making a show of looking over House's stats. He didn't shine the dreaded penlight into House's somewhat blurry eyes but it was a close thing. "You're scheduled for an MRI in about an hour just in case."

"In case there's another clot just waiting to put me into a wheelchair," House cut in with a bitter scowl.

"We don't know anything yet. Your diagnosis is premature," Chase attempted to assure him.

House snorted. "Who's the head of the diagnostic department again? Oh right, me," he said dryly. "And it wasn't a seizure. It was a kind of muscle spasm."

"Only in your leg?"

"No," House said after a moment's thought. "My spine decided to do an impression of an accordion but that's no big deal. It happens all the time really," he sneered.

Chase sighed and shook his head. "And now? You seem to be alright. Are you in any pain?" House glared at him and Chase amended his question. "Are you in any pain not related to your leg?"

"It's good to see that my own _diagnostic _team can pull together in a pinch and figure out what's wrong with their boss. It's as if you don't even need me!" House said in mock awe.

"Will a Vicodin shut you up and make you cooperative?" Chase asked dryly, snatching Houses' pill bottle from off the desk and opening it. House just held out a hand. Chase sighed again. "I'd tell you to lay off the pills until we're able to figure out what's wrong with you but I can see that I'd be more likely to convince Vogler give you is 100 million dollars than to get you to go off the Vicodin."

"It's good that you've learned my ways, grasshopper," House said with a smirk as he swallowed the offered Vicodin. "Where is your master anyway? I haven't felt the ground shake in awhile so that must mean he hasn't found out about yours truly yet."

"He's not my master," Chase argued with a glower, irritated that he found himself so easily baited by House's taunts.

"As long as he holds the choke chain around your neck he's your master. What's wrong? You don't like being on bottom?"

Chase took a breath, refusing to allow himself to be baited so easily again. He knew better than that. He knew _House_ better than that. This was a stalling tactic. "It's time for your MRI. I had Foreman and Cameron clear the way to the lab." He understood House's reluctance at going to get the MRI even if he knew it was needed. He understood how being rolled through a nosy hospital would feel for such a prideful man as him.

House found himself somewhat thankful for his team's consideration even though he didn't try to be. "Your idea?"

"Cameron's."

_Ah of course. The ever considerate Dr. Allison Cameron. I guess that means she's not upset with me anymore._

"She told me to tell you that we're providing the cheese this week?" Chase offered, not fully understanding what Cameron had meant by that but passing along the message anyway.

House smirked and nodded. "I trust you're not going to allow me to walk?" Chase held up House's cane which he had snatched up while House hadn't been paying attention. _Damn._ "Fine. Well get a move on, driver. I don't have all day." Chase just snorted and they were on their way.

ooo

"No clots," the MRI technician announced to the waiting trio of young doctor's. He recognised them as House's people—as House himself was the patient—but he didn't know anything more than that.

"No clots?" one of them asked. The girl. What was her name? Callahan? No…Cameron? Something like that.

"That's right. What is with you people? I've told you the same thing 4 times now. There are no clots. I don't know how to make it any clearer than that. Whatever's wrong with your boss doesn't have to do with a clot."

Cameron, Chase and Foreman all exchanged glances and left without a further word.

The tech snorted. "Not even a thank you. No wonder they'll only work for House. They're a bunch of jerks just like him."

ooo

"I take it by the frustrated looks on each of your faces you didn't find what you were looking for?" House asked as his ducklings flocked into his room. "Shut the door will you? There's a draft."

Foreman rolled his eyes but as he was the closest to the door he slid it shut.

"We were looking for a blood clot," Cameron explained.

House nodded. "I know. And you didn't find one. Guess I'm not that unlucky twice. Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. You think?"

"Seeing as we don't yet know what's wrong with you I'd hold off on the gambling," Foreman said dryly.

"Spoilsport," House muttered before growing serious. "The pain wasn't limited to my leg. That's just where I felt it the most."

"Was it a muscle spasm?" Chase asked.

House shook his head. "Not exactly. It was as if every muscle in my body decided to cramp up at once. Not a pleasant experience." House suddenly arched up off the bed, his features tight with pain.

"House? What is it? What's wrong?" Cameron was the first to ask, but only just. Her voice was full of pleading; _please tell us what's wrong with you so we can make it stop._

"I can't—can't stop it," House gasped. "Uncontrollable arching of the back. Write that—" he gasped, "down on the board."

"Anything else?" Foreman asked in a forcibly detached voice as he listened to House describe his symptoms while experiencing them. It was like watching someone stab himself through the hand just to examine how it bled.

"I can't—I can't breath," House wheezed, his mouth opening wide as he struggled for air like a netted fish. His hands clawed at his throat as his skin began to go ashen before he passed out leaving a trio of young doctors to scurry to save their boss's life.

TBC

A/N: Ok we didn't learn too much about what's wrong with poor House, but at least he's in good hands right? Right? I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I will try and post the next one soon, but as last time it has to wait its turn in the queue.

Honour Role: Jackie Keyser, Cklovesme2040, secretchild, Samantha Pntr, bree1387, Skye, adrift, liz, jeevesandwooster, LF, Dru, Val'istar En' Alu, Belligerent-road-pylon, th Tallest, Sarah, truthhurts6, xoleanderx, sydedalus, jujubee10323, sapphirewolf, ILuvPiratesSavvy, querty123, MagikalStar135 Hope I didn't forget anyone! Thanks all!


	3. Chapter 3

Housian Dynamics

A House fic by Merrie

Disclaimer: Fox? Bryan Singer? Never heard of them. House is and always has been mine. All mine. Didn't you see my name in the credits? You didn't? Well…I guess he's not mine then. Damn.

Summary: Dr. Gregory House is a genius when it comes to diagnosing mysterious ailments and illnesses. But what happens when he falls ill with an unexplainable disease himself? Will his team be able to prove their worth by working together without him in time to save him?

Characters: House, Cam, Chase, Foreman, Wilson, Cuddy, Vogler, etc. etc. If they're on or were on House regularly, they'll at least be mentioned in this fic.

Spoilers: AU fic of the first season pre Vogler's leaving.

Pairings: House/Cameron and House/Wilson friendship perhaps even a little House/Cuddy worrying if you look close. ;)

Author's Note: College life is hell on your creative free time. :-P

Rating: K+

Chapter Three

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

The steady sound of the heart monitor filled the room annoying anyone within hearing distance after varying—but always short—amounts of time. House was especially irritated by it in the fact that it was his heart beat he was hearing amplified through the room and that there was nothing he could do to make the noise stop. He had tried earlier but the nurses and his fellow doctors had put a quick stop to that and he had been in no position to argue; literally.

He had been fortunate—if you could call it that—during his infarction in that he had never been in the position where a respirator was a necessity for continued life. Sure he had had his problems, the loss of the use of his leg being only one of them, but he hadn't in that time known what it felt like to suffocate like a fish out of water. He had felt that today. He had been the one that—had it been Cameron? He couldn't quite recall—had gotten the melodramatic quote; "_he's not breathing!" _He didn't really feel special or privileged in any way; not breathing wasn't as fun as it sounded. And he honestly hadn't liked the worry in—he was pretty sure it had been Cameron—her voice when she had said it; as if she had expected him to die right then and there on the bed. It would have been ironic; Dr. Gregory House—always with a cutting retort, a clever quip, the endless wit—dying without another word. Irony could go fuck itself.

"I'm sorry about the tube, Dr. House. I'm sure it'll come out later once your breathing is back to normal," a kindly nurse spoke up at just the right time to send him into a killing rage. Pity he couldn't actually get up off the bed to do any killing though. He settled for sending her a withering glare but nurse what's-her-name seemed to be made of sterner stuff than most of the noodle-spined young nitwits Cuddy had working here. In fact, it was probably safe to say Cuddy had picked out this particular nurse to be his especially because of that fact. "Your team will figure out what's wrong soon enough."

House didn't bother to stop the eye roll that came from that. At this point he didn't have any faith in his so-called team to find their own asses as they sat if given a dozen tries. He would have sighed then had he been able for his team was his only real hope of beating this…whatever the hell it was. He was off his game and he knew it. On another day he might have been able to diagnose whatever was afflicting him long ago, but not now. Now all he knew was pain and infirmity and he hated it. It seemed as if every muscle in his body had joined his leg's happy chorus and it made him want to scream.

"Are you in pain?" the ignorant nurse asked. He reached over and snapped her neck one-handed. Once she was dead at the side of the bed he smiled around the tube, his killing rage satisfied and the pain gone. "Dr. House?" the nurse asked again, spoiling his fantasy.

He gave her a look letting her know just what an idiot she was until she adjusted the Demerol drip hanging above his bedside. He missed his Vicodin, but the Demerol was an adequate substitute for the time being, and it was hard to take pills when there was a tube down your throat keeping you breathing. "Get some rest, Dr. House." He ignored the nurses' parting words, letting the euphoria from the drugs overtake him and falling into a fitful sleep.

WWW

Cameron sighed as she looked over the pink whiteboard, the written words there obscured by the reflected light of the fall leaves and fading sunlight from the windows. "We're missing something," she murmured to the room at large, rubbing at her eyes as the hastily scrawled symptoms had begun to blur.

"Yeah. House," Foreman muttered.

Cameron turned to give him withering glare. "Will House isn't here. And if we don't figure out what's wrong with him on our own he won't be here ever again."

Foreman nodded, suitably chastened.

Chase watched the exchange in silence, looking up at the board and reading the symptoms there. The early symptoms—extreme agitation, being easily startled—could have been indicative of a number of causes, including House just being House. But the later ones, the muscle spasms and the arching of his back led him to believe that something was _definitely _wrong. The fact that House now needed a respirator to breathe for him troubled Chase the most. It meant he was getting worse; and quickly. He got up and moved into House's office, finding the ball House kept on his desk conducive for thinking on his feet; something to keep his body occupied while his mind went to work.

Cameron watched Chase walk by and knew where he was going and what he was doing. They all had their little quirks. Throwing a ball around like while he thought was one of Chase's. And House's for that matter.

"It's not neurological. We've already given him every scan we could. House's brain looks just like everyone else's, oddly enough. There are no clots, no tumors, nothing. On the other hand, it really does seem like he has the flu."

"The flu doesn't explain all of these other symptoms. His high fever's more than likely the reason he collapsed in here this morning though," Cameron murmured, not looking away from the board. Had it really only been since this morning?

"You're sure there was nothing in the blood test?" Chase murmured as he walked back in the room, House's fuzzy red and grey ball tossed back and forth in his hands as he walked.

"We've already gone over the sample a dozen times. There was nothing there," Cameron said with some exasperation.

Foreman opened House's folder anyway. "The only thing that was in House's blood this morning was the flu and a hell of a lot of Vicodin. Why?"

Chase shook his head. "Cameron's comment just got me thinking. I thought that we might have missed something in the bloodwork."

"Like what?" Foreman asked, turning in his seat to give Chase his full attention now as the young doctor actually seemed to have something in mind.

"Strychnine poisoning. It would explain the symptoms." He walked up to the board and grabbed a marker. "Strychnine can cause agitation, the ability to be easily startled, muscle spasms and respiratory distress among other things," he murmured, checking of the corresponding symptoms as he spoke.

"But his bloodwork was clean. The techs would have noticed something like that right away," Cameron said with a frown, thinking about how closely it fit the symptoms and desperately wanting Chase to be right and the case solved so they could help House, but unable to deny the reality of the situation. "There was no strychnine in his blood."

"This morning there wasn't," Foreman murmured, sitting up straight in his chair and looking up at his colleagues. "What if he was poisoned after we took the blood sample?"

"Poisoned here? He hasn't had anything to eat or drink since he's been here, Eric," Cameron argued. "And now he can't eat or drink any longer."

"You don't have to ingest it. You can inhale strychnine powder too," Chase put in, turning back from the whiteboard to look at them.

"Again, how was he going to get exposed to it? Strychnine isn't something the hospital keeps on hand," Cameron argued.

"Just have them redraw his blood. If it's positive for strychnine poisoning we can make him better and then worry about how he got exposed. If not then we'll find something else that fits."

Cameron and Foreman nodded to Chase's solution and went back to work.

WWW

"I had to see this for myself. I didn't believe Dr. Cuddy when she told me. The invincible Dr. House isn't as invincible as he'd like us to believe," Edward Vogler muttered as he stepped into House's hospital room. "Are you sure you're not faking it?"

House, who had been floating on a Demerol-induced cloud of sleepiness scowled as well as he could around the respirator tube as Vogler interrupted his good mood.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Vogler muttered, his large frame moving in to occupy the small space next to House's bed. "I trust you'll make up the clinic hours you've missed once you're feeling well enough to go back to work," Vogler asked wryly. "It wouldn't go well for you to ignore the commitments you've made to this hospital now would it?"

House just gave Vogler a placid look, forging the urge to flip him the bird for now. He had a newfound dislike for respirators in general. There was so much he could say to Vogler right now—so much he _longed_ to say to Vogler right now—but all he could was grunt pathetically and drool onto the light colored hospital gown. _Not_ smooth.

"You seem a bit lonely in this big room all to yourself, House. I'll see to getting you some company." Vogler turned to leave but not before House saw the smirk on his face.

_Those idiots of mine better figure out what's wrong with me soon,_ House thought to himself with a mental scowl. He wasn't about to put up with an over talkative roommate for long when he couldn't talk at all. And he had no doubt that that was the kind of person Vogler would send him; some overly open hypochondriac in need of mothering and a shoulder to cry on. House was in no position—or mood—to offer either.

He just sighed and laid back, determined to fall back into the Demerol's embrace without a fight. No such luck.

"Was that Vogler I just saw leaving?" Foreman asked as he walked into House's room, needle in hand.

House just sent him a look that made him feel like an idiotic first-year med student again and he frowned, annoyed at House for being able to do that so easily; especially in his current state.

"I'm here to redraw your blood. We think you've been poisoned," Foreman continued after House sent a pointed look to the syringe in Foreman's hand.

House raised an eyebrow. Poisoned?

"Yeah, I know. Who would ever want to poison someone as sweet as you? Arm."

House shook his head and made a 'you'd better explain or I'm not cooperating' gesture with his hand.

"We think you're suffering from strychnine poisoning. Now are you going to let me take some blood to test for it or not?" Foreman asked impatiently.

House nodded. Strychnine toxicity made sense. It also let him know just what would happen if he wasn't treated soon; eventually he would lose all muscle control and go into respiratory failure eventually leading to brain death. He would die gasping in a sea of air. It was _not_ the way he wanted to die.

"If it's positive we'll start treatment right away," Foreman murmured needlessly as he watched House's blood fill the syringe.

House just nodded. He wouldn't have had anything to say to that even if he could talk.

WWW

"I hate waiting," Cameron murmured to herself as she paced back and forth behind the small lab table Foreman sat at testing House's blood sample. Her high heels clacked loudly on the tile floor.

"Patience is a virtue," Chase muttered for the third time now with a sigh. He was every bit as impatient as she was but at least he wasn't complaining about it every few minutes.

Cameron opened her mouth to send a biting retort over to Chase for that little comment when she was cut off by Foreman.

"If you two children could go outside and play, Daddy's trying to work," he murmured. "Almost done, by the way."

That quieted the two near combatants and they both moved to stand opposite sides of Foreman, both of them eager to hear of the results.

"It's positive," Foreman breathed a moment later, leaning back in his chair to glance over at his colleagues. "House was poisoned."

TBC

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter, but I just wanted to get it finished and out to you before another month passed. So sorry for the wait, you guys! School has taken a big chomp out of my writing time but the Holidays are coming up soon so hopefully I'll have this fic finished—I've only about 1 or 2 more chapters to write—for you all soon! Thank you again for your continued patience with me. It means a lot.


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